


Roswell

by brejamison



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Titans (TV 2018)
Genre: Burns, Canon Compliant, Cute Garfield Logan, Democratic Republic of the Congo, Dick Grayson is a good dad, Family Feels, Gen, Hurt Dick Grayson, Hurt/Comfort, Internal Conflict, THEY SPEAK FRENCH, Whump, dick hates billionaires, gar hates eco-terrorists, identity crisis, it's all very personal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-23 07:27:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23274439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brejamison/pseuds/brejamison
Summary: In which Gar wants to go back to the Congo Basin to find answers about his past. Dick goes with him and, together, they uncover a much larger problem, accidentally kill an evil billionaire, and fall in a vat of chemical waste.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Garfield Logan
Comments: 4
Kudos: 72





	Roswell

Gar's family hadn't been killed. They'd been murdered. 

Like all good stories, it all started with a movie. A jungle monster movie full of racist stereotypes and White Saviors (not to mention the token Lovely Lady), but the trees, the rivers, hell, even the monster had woken something in Gar. Memories he thought he had packed up and sealed away long ago came back and hadn't aged well at all. They were as baffling as ever, even more so in the context of his brand new life.

When they didn't go away, he had taken them to the one person everyone dumped all their baggage on because he would ask no questions and sit patiently as they sorted through a stockpile of suitcases and handbags, making small and large piles, and rambling endlessly at the tokens and souvenirs of their lives.

He might've taken the metaphor a bit far, but the point was, he went to Dick. 

Dick, the angel, had sat and listened, one hand cupping his chin as he squinted and absorbed everything Gar was saying. And there was a lot to say; Gar spared him no detail, elaborating in depth about his family's troubles with the flavor of the month white businessmen encroaching on their land and trying to gobble it up for a quick buck. A new stranger showed up every few months in their small Congo village, all big teeth and shiny things, promising them a fortune if they sold. His parents always refused, no matter how _persuasive_ the men tried to be. One had even offered his own daughter for their consumption. 

While the Logans usually settled the matter without bloodshed, those negotiations, in particular, had closed at the business end of a spear. That wasn't to say they never inflicted a little property damage or bribing of the guards (who always ended up being their neighbors or third cousins twice removed from the lady who made the baskets - it was a small village). It just meant the bombs were set to go off in the middle of the night when everyone was in bed and the bush fires were more smoke than bite. 

Gar had been doing it since he was a kid, since his parents had landed in that small village. It was family game night, whenever someone new came knocking on their door and turning their nose up to the monkey shit they stepped in. But his parents hadn't involved him too heavily in the details; his best recollections were that these people needed rocks thrown at their windows tonight and the barn set on fire tomorrow. He always ensured the innocent animals were out first, though, obviously. None of the Logans wanted blood. Just some peace and quiet and a little mischief now and then. 

It explained a lot about Gar, Dick had commented fondly.

Gar had smiled at him and thanked him. He loved his family and they had loved their neighbors. The village and all the critters inside it had been theirs to protect and cherish. 

And apparently also to die for. Thinking back, Gar had never wondered why his parents had been so adamant about protecting the land. It wasn't like it was family property; they had only lived there a few years (since he was a preschooler) prior to everything going wrong. He had woken up one morning, his parents informing him that they were moving and that had been that. Everything else after that had taken place in their modern house in that little village.

After the movie the other night, though, Gar had started to question some things. Like how his entire village had been gassed and _then_ destroyed by flames to cover the scent of the chemical bombs. Like how his parents never went to work but had all of this money to use and build a luxury house in the middle of the jungle one day. Like how he was told by Chief that he had been bitten by a monkey but had no scars or recollection of any such attack. Or how his parents owned a shed out back he was never allowed to go near. 

He had vague memories of them in lab coats, under surgical lights, and sneaked glimpses of experiments on whiteboards, of men willing to sacrifice their own daughter for a slice of some random plot of jungle land. 

At this point, Dick got interested. Not that he hadn't been paying careful attention until now. Gar was just long-winded and a scenic storyteller and they both knew it. But the inkling of a conspiracy theory had the detective's senses a-tingling. 

"You think your parents were experimenting with, what? Minerals? Vegetation? Animal species local only to your village?" he asked.

"I think so, yeah."

"And that someone killed them - killed your entire village - for access to it?"

Gar shrugged. "Or for my parents' research, yeah."

Dick sighed thoughtfully. He worked his jaw, chewing over everything he had just heard. 

"I know it sounds crazy," Gar interrupted, shifting nervously. "But think about it. A random village in the middle of the Congo just up and gets gassed one day? Not just gassed, but the chemical was toxic enough to wipe out _everyone;_ even the first responders and medics who had volunteered to help came down with symptoms just from being around us. And what are the chances that a man like Chief of all people, shows up, bag in hand, ready to experiment on the first living person he finds?"

"But you said that Chief was a medical genius, right? He probably had a couple of different antidotes ready and figured out which ones to mix together once he saw your and everyone else's symptoms."

"No, dude, no. You don't get it. I..." The boy stood abruptly, pacing as he wrung his hands nervously. "Chief didn't do this to me. At least, not entirely."

Dick frowned, pieces starting to slot together. "Didn't do what? The sickness? Your power?"

"I don't know, man. I'm not sure how to describe it, but this power of mine? I think I've always had it."

"You could always turn into a tiger?"

"No, not exactly. But it... it's always felt like when you, I don't know, when you have a craving for something. Like, all you can think about is having this super specific food or to watch that one movie or whatever. You can't really put your finger on it, but it's there. And then, once you do find the right thing, it just fits, you know?"

"You're saying that Chief didn't give you that power. He just... unlocked it?"

"...Yes?"

Dick paused, making another face as he let _that_ sink in. And that didn't even get into the implications of what, exactly, Gar had been born as. "So, are you a meta, then?"

"See, I don't think so. Because my DNA - sometimes it's a tiger's, sure - but it's still human."

"Metas are born as humans, Gar. Most of them, anyway."

He shrugged, waving vaguely. "I know, I know. I just... I've always _felt_ human, you know? All things considered." 

Not really. "Sure. So if you weren't born a meta, but you somehow still had these powers - or, at least, the potential for them - that means that... Your parents gave them to you?"

"Experimented them on me, I think is safer to say."

Dick looked at him because the fuck? And also the kid had no right to be _that_ calm as _those_ words left his mouth. "You've really thought this through, haven't you?" Because how else could Little Mister Sci-Fi not be vibrating with anxiety right now if he hadn't spent days laboring over these thoughts and theories? His own parents had experimented on him? Possibly implanted these strange powers inside of them that were perfectly dormant without the right trigger? All of this in the middle of the Congo jungle. And it had apparently gotten them - and everyone else - killed. 

"That's quite the story," he concluded finally.

Gar sighed, dropping heavily onto the bed next to him. "So, you don't believe me."

Dick made a face, carefully deciding on his response. "I don't _not_ believe you. It's all very circumstantial, you have to admit."

"But it makes sense, right? At least as much sense as me being able to turn into a green tiger because Lucy got a bit snappy." 

"That, yes, there is that too." He scrubbed at his face again and wow that was quite the story indeed. "So now that you have this theory, what do you plan on doing with it?"

"Ah! I'm glad you asked!" Gar retrieved his laptop and explained how he had tracked the exact location of his village thanks to the guys back in Covington (" _Exact_ exact?" "Yes, Chief keeps _very_ detailed notes, believe me.") and discovered that not even five months after his village had been gassed, a mysterious company had broken ground for several state-of-the-art facilities, right where his old house had been. The company was sketch as hell because of course it was; the entire operation from start to finish took place on site. Even their CEO Norman Roswell lived there, in a large home he had erected in record time.

He was halfway through the explanation of which laboratory building had replaced whose house when Dick interrupted again. "Hong on. Gar, pause for a second." He turned to look at the boy. "You want to go back, don't you?"

Normally, Gar would try to be coy and tactful about a favor like this, trying not to make it sound like the big deal it was. But this was his _family,_ his _village_ that Norman Roswell had built his big ugly buildings on. He pulled in a breath, meeting Dick's eye. "More than anything." 

The man shrugged easily. "Okay. I'll see what I can do." He clapped Gar on the knee and stood, making his way to the door. 

"Wait, hold on," the boy stammered, tossing his laptop aside. "That's it? Just like that and we're on a plane to the Congo?"

Dick laughed at him. "Gar, all you had to say was 'I really wanna go back to where I grew up, I think something's going on and it's bothering me' and I would've been on the phone a minute later to get us a flight. This, this whole presentation of yours was really helpful, but it wasn't necessary." 

Stunned, the boy sat back, truly and utterly at a loss of words. "Oh," he finally said. "Uh, thanks?"

Dick grinned at him like that was all the payment he needed. "I'll go make some calls and see when's the earliest we can leave. You should pack and get ready in the meantime." 

"Right. Uh, yeah, right. Totally. Can do!" He sprung to action and Dick _knew_ it hadn't sunk in yet that he was going home. But it would. And he would be there to witness it, popcorn in hand. 

.,.,.,.,.,.,.,

Dick wrangled them two seats on a cargo plane with some of the Lanterns heading out for some international, intergalactic something or other. Dick was proud of how well Gar had managed to act like a normal, functioning human person despite internally freaking the fuck out over getting to meet a Green Lantern. He had only asked for selfies three times. (Rachel, however, who received the pictures with a series of frantic texts, was far less starstruck.) It was fun for Dick, to be reminded that the very same people he had seen kill it at drunk karaoke and knew exactly which rom coms would leave them a sobbing mess were also huge public figures and heroes. Just another day in the office for the former Robin. 

The plane didn't take them all the way to where they needed to go, but they quickly got a ride through the mountainous jungle. The further away from civilization they got, the more random people recognized their prodigal son, weeping and cheering over his return. There were actual tears as villagers and old friends realized their little _garçon perdu_ hadn't died in the horrible tragedy. 

To his credit, Gar had taken the unexpected welcome back in stride. He had certainly shed many an emotional tear himself as he was hugged and his peculiarly colored hair teased. Some of the villagers had been his friends - or friends' families - that he hadn't seen in ages and he was genuinely glad to make contact with them again, however briefly. But Dick could read people and, more importantly, knew the boy. The welcome backs had started to take their toll on little Gar, who was feeling strung out, a bit like a zoo animal. So Dick focused on keeping them moving, politely interrupting with some pretend rusty French whenever Gar started to inch for the exit. As nice as it was to experience a slice of the boy's life from a lifetime ago, they had a mission to complete. 

The mood changed drastically, however, as they neared the location of his old village. The stragglers in the area looked to Gar with hope and sorrow, wondering if he knew what their old home had become and, if he did, if he was here to change it.

"The land," an old man warned as they stopped for fuel. Dick was lounging against the counter, taking a break from the heat and keeping an eye on the boy through the store's cracked and dusty windows. When the old man offered a bottle of beer, Dick turned, frowning at the cryptic words. 

"The land," the storekeeper repeated, wiping down the counter. "She changes. She bleeds." His eyes flickered to Dick pointedly. "She cries for help." 

After a heavy pause, Dick took the beer. He popped the cap off and toasted. "To the land." 

"To her saviors." 

He smirked, taking a swig. Saviors they were not. Just a pair of concerned citizens who had a penchant for stumbling into crime. Which they then swiftly and bloodily put an end to. 

The bell dinged as he walked out, quickly finding Gar. The boy was reclined against their rented jeep, eyes cast down the windy road. They were only a few hours out now and would be reaching his village's gravesite by nightfall. Dick wanted to get some reconnaissance done before storming Roswell's facilities.

"You ready?" he asked because did he ever recognize that long lost stare. He wore it himself every time he went back to Gotham, feeling very much out of place in his own home. 

"Yeah," the boy replied quietly, voice choked. He blinked, sniffing and swiping at his eyes. "Stupid bugs." 

Dick leaned over the roof, watching him with sympathy. "Gar. The next couple of days are going to be hard. Chances are very good you're going to find some stuff you won't like. And it will probably hurt - a lot." 

Swallowing, the beast boy nodded, green eyes downcast. 

"But," Dick continued. "I'm only as dedicated to this as you are. If you want to turn back right now, three hours from now, or in four days, say the word and we will. No questions asked. And if you want to see this through to the end - whatever that end might be - just remember I'll be right there with you the whole time, okay?" 

"Okay." Then, daring to glance at him: "Thanks." 

"Let's do this." 

.,.,.,.,.,.,.,

Reconnaissance went well because of _course_ reconnaissance went well. This was _Robin_ he was with, the Boy Wonder who had been doing stealth and research since long before he was big enough to throw a punch. After all, the best way to avoid getting hit is to avoid the battle entirely. By the second night of staking out and observing, Dick was confident enough to pull back and start strategizing an infiltration plan. Surprisingly, they wouldn't hit the main complex. They wouldn't even go into the secondary or tertiary labs at all. 

No, a company this secluded and run by a CEO who lived on the grounds? He clearly wanted to keep all the important stuff near and dear to his heart. And the "volunteer" security team. The Titans would go for his house, focusing solely on the main office. 

The security team? Local villagers who were too stubborn to leave and considered too useful to be forced out. It was forced labor, innocent people trapped by force and terrible circumstances. And just as the Titans had predicted, as soon as they saw their _garçon perdu_ return they were delighted to help out in any way they could. Dick was hesistant at first, but their knowledge of the grounds and Roswell's schedule was invaluable. 

Eventually, the plan was concocted, the troops put in place, and Roswell none the wiser. It all hinged on Gar's command; one word and they would begin, going in guns blazing and burn the place to the ground. Another and they would turn back and leave, no questions asked. He had initally been worried about putting his neighbors in danger, but a solitary and reflective visit to the unmarked graves of his family and friends had done wonders to clear his head. They were doing this and doing it hard and, if need be, extremely dirty. 

He gave the word. With an understanding nod from Dick, they had begun. And it was going smoothly.

Until it wasn't. For all of their willingness to help, the villagers were neither trained spies nor actors. One little slip-up, someone looking nervous and he was spotted like a stain on the carpet. It all went to shit remarkably fast. Dick and Gar had made it into the office by the time the shooting started, looking through papers and downloading the main computer's hefty database. The gunfire lit up the jungle darkness, covering the yard like terrible fireflies. Soon enough, alarms were blaring and Dick had to jump on Gar to avoid the spotlights peering in at them through the large office windows. The house was large and wide, plantation-style architecture and full of cutting edge security defenses. 

The Titans looked up as they heard footsteps and shouting down the hall. Gar rushed to the large double doors across the room, slamming himself against them just as they were kicked at from the other side. He looked back at Dick urgently, the man resuming work on the computer download. 

"Maybe hurry it up a little?" the boy squeaked, shaking as the door shuttered violently. It nearly threw him off and he scrambled back to position. 

"I'm doing the best I can," Dick replied calmly. But his best wasn't fast enough for the terabytes of content he was downloading, though. Deciding, he grabbed the metal wastebasket by the desk and charged the door. The basket slipped into Gar's hands and Dick counted slowly. On three, they switched places, the larger man shouldering the door and Gar clutching a heavy trashcan, looking confused. 

"The phone," Dick grunted.

Gar nodded and rushed the desk, checking the download time. "Eh, there's still too much left." 

"I know. Unplug it and take it with you." 

His eyes shot up. "What?" 

Dick grunted against the door, the frame splitting. "It's a League device. It can download wirelessly from a short distance away." 

Gar nodded, unplugging the chunky phone from the computer. It alerted him that the download had paused and Gar switched to wireless downloading. He pocketed the device and looked up, wastebasket heavy in his hand. "What now?" 

"Go." 

"What?" 

Dick nodded to the window. "Go. Get out of here. Find a spot nearby and bunker down." 

"But - wait a minute! What about you?" He raised the basket. "Or this? What about this?" 

Dick smirked, shrugging apologetically. "That was just to get you off the door." 

Gar made a disapproving sound, looking very offended. "But what about you? What're you going to do?" 

Dick turned, flattening his back against the doors as the handles clunked the carpet. "Stall them. Keep the download running." 

"But-"

"Gar. Go. Make sure the people out there are okay. I can draw the fire. You have to get them out." 

The boy looked conflicted, gasping and trying to find any other options.

"This is what you wanted," Dick continued. "To find the truth. To do this. Now it's happening. So, go, finish it." He straightened suddenly, releasing the doors. They exploded open around him, metal bits and wood shards littering the office. Gar jumped back, surprised. "Go!" Dick urged again. He spun, caught a punch, and returned several more. 

Gar swallowed, fighting the urge to help, but ultimately decided to follow orders. He pivoted, raising the wastebasket above his head. With a mighty shout, it crashed through the large windows, shattering them. 

"There! Another one!" a guard (imported - not one of the villagers) shouted and Dick's foot smashed into his face, silencing him. 

Gar heaved himself across the windowsill, disappearing into the night as Dick wrapped the last remaining guard into a human knot, stealing his radio.

"Le bureau! Le bureau!" he shouted, attracting all the other watchmen to him.

Outside, Gar sprinted across the very large lawn, waving his arms and shouting for his neighbors to retreat. They heard and obeyed, passing the command along the chain. He dove headfirst into the jungle brush, scrambling to the edge so he could watch the drama unfolding in the office as people lept and bounded over him. He couldn't make out much from this distance and by the time he figured out which silhouette was Dick's (the one throwing all the punches, obviously), the villagers were hissing for him to come on, they needed to get away. 

He chewed his lip, checking the signal of the phone. It still had three strong bars and he did a double-take. "Thought he said it had to be _close_!" he gasped, looking at the maximum distance for the signal to reach. 

"Allons-y! Allons!" someone urged him and he picked himself off the ground, scurrying into the brush after them. He would be back, Dick. Once he got everyone safe and settled, he would come back and burn this entire fucking place to the ground. 

.,.,.,.,.,.,.,

Dick fought off as many guards as he could handle. He could have gone a few more rounds, too, if they had followed proper fisticuffs procedures and not ganged up on him with stun batons and riot gear. Against artillery and equipment like that, he could only last so long, training be damned. The way the men beat him into the ground, armed to the teeth and continuing to zap him even after he went down, made him despise Roswell even more than he already had. He hadn't hired any two-bit security team. He had imported damn mercenaries and Dick had no doubts about the kind of cruelties the billionaire would happily unleash on the villagers should they ever get a silly idea like fighting back. 

The guards piled on him, forcing him still as the signature sound of expensive loafers caught his ears. Dick snarled and looked up, making no efforts to hide his contempt for the man as he stomped into view. Roswell didn't give him a second glance, however, instead moving right over him as he breezed to his desk. 

Shit. The download hadn't finished yet. He had to stall.

"<I know what you're up to!>" Dick threatened. "<A I'll expose you for the entire world to see! You'll be ruined!>" 

Roswell paused and Dick held his breath, waiting to see if the fat fuck took the bait. He did, of course. They always did. Dick had grown up around assholes like Roswell; by the knot of his silk robe alone Dick could tell exactly what made the billionaire tick and what would downright set him off. Threatening his reputation was starting small, picking at a scab. What Dick really needed to do was go for the jugular. Meaning the money. It always meant the money. 

Roswell started to turn. 

"<They're going to cut your funding, open investigations,>" Dick snarled, thrashing against the men holding him. Money was a language as much as a currency and it was one Dick spoke fucking _fluently._ "<Everything of yours will be taken away. You'll be destitute, without one penny to your name.>" 

Roswell stared down at him, his glare having to traverse the long length of his nose before harmlessly bouncing off Dick. "<Who are you?>" 

At this Dick wisely clammed up. A guy like Roswell had enemies, guaranteed. And if not enemies, threats, people who didn't like him and were perfectly capable of shutting him down. The kinds of monsters illegal billionaires have nightmares about. Dick shrugged, giving his best scowl. Roswell knew. Roswell knew _exactly_ who he was, even if Dick didn't have the first clue. If Dick couldn't kill him (which was still very much up for debate if someone like Roswell even counted as a person), he could and would at the very least make his night terrors a very scary reality. 

The man sweat, gulping loudly at Dick's silence. "<Impossible! Tell me!>" he screamed. 

Dick remained maddeningly silent. 

The man flailed, looking for something to punch in agitation but also not knowing the first thing about how to ball his fist if it wasn't around a wad of cash. "<Tell me, right now! You cretin! Who do you work for?>"

A single, suggestively raised eyebrow was all it took for the man previously known as Norman Roswell to dissolve. He might have remained standing in his silk robe and leather loafers. But all Dick saw was a puddle of fat and greed for things he couldn't take with him. 

"<Take him away!>" he demanded and Dick was hauled to his feet, feeling like a giant in the company of insects. 

"Sayonara, asshole," he teased and the slap to the face (if it could even be called a slap) was a bruise he would wear with pride. 

.,.,.,.,.,.,.,

Gar got the rest of the villagers to the outskirts of Roswell's property, huffing and puffing loudly. He had forgotten how difficult the jungle was to traverse, especially at high speeds, especially at night, and _especially_ when people with guns were shooting at him. His animal instincts and childhood experience had allowed him to keep pace with the natives, though, falling in step as they retreated to a safe place.

He stumbled into the clearing, shaking off a particularly clingy vine, and finally looked up.

If the villagers had told him their safe space was his family's abandoned house, he would have protested wildly and broken from the group a quarter of a mile back. 

Instead, here he stood, on the doorstep of his mysterious and happy childhood. The house stood, old and silent like the tombstone of lives cut short. He might have survived the gassing and extermination, but the him that had grown up here was long since dead. 

Suddenly, the League device in his pocket dinged and he scrambled for it. 

_DOWNLOAD COMPLETE. 3.876 TB DOWNLOADED SUCCESSFULLY_

An idea flashed in Gar's mind, igniting his thoughts like a bolt of lightning: The shed. His parents' shed around the back of the house. The very same shed he had never been allowed to go near. If it was still standing, it would have remained untouched for all of these years. It would hold the answers he needed. 

He broke off into a sprint, feet pounding along the path. The footprints he left in the mud had been a helluva a lot smaller last time he had done this. He had been smaller too, and so, so young to the world. 

Rounding the corner, he slowed long enough to dip under some overgrown branches. Beyond the trees, he could see it, the mysterious structure that held all the answers. Its walls were bowed slightly with age and dampness but it stood intact, metal sheets holding the secrets within. 

The phone blipped again. 

_HEARTRATE OF Grayson, R ELEVATED. SUBJECT IN DISTRESS_

"Shit!" he gasped, stumbling back into himself. Gar turned, racing back the way he had come. At the edge of the property, he paused, sparing one last look to his old home, one final moment to reconsider. The answers were in there. Information about who he was and who his parents had been - had really been, past all the lies and secrecy - was waiting for him. All he had to do was go in and take it. 

"<What are you going to do?>" someone asked and Gar bounced nervously because he didn't know. But his heart did. 

"<I'm going after my family,>" he responded and disappeared into the trees with a mighty roar. 

.,.,.,.,.,.,.,

Roswell was into chemical waste because of _course_ he had made billions by ruining countless lives so he could dump toxic sludge into the Congo basin and destroy countless more - not to mention the effects it had on the land and animals. He had Dick chained up, the two of them and their heavily armed escorts standing on a metal catwalk high above an open vat of the stuff. 

The fumes alone were enough to make Dick nauseous. He couldn't imagine the untold the destruction it was doing to the surrounding environment. 

"<One last time!>" Roswell was yelling. "<Tell me who you work for!>" 

Dick braced himself as the man heavy man stomped, the entire bridge rattling under him. Okay, this didn't look good. He would have to come up with some bullshit to stall for time.

"<The government!>" he falsely admitted. 

"<No!>" Roswell shouted and stomped again.

"The CIA!" he tried in English.

"<It is not true!>" Another stomp and a few nuts and bolts fell away, the guards starting to look nervous.

Dick made a face. "<Russia?>" he tried, seamlessly switching accents again. 

Roswell paused. "<Kotchev?>" 

"<Yes. Kotchev.>" 

"<You lie!>" Roswell screamed, storming forward. He grabbed Dick by the throat, slamming him against the railing. The whole structure shook so badly Dick hardly had time to appreciate the man's hot breath or spit on his face. 

"Easy!" he yelled back. The guards frowned. Somehow it felt like the mysterious captive was the one in charge, and he was being bent in half by a metal rail in his back and hands to his throat. "You're going to bring the whole place down!" 

Another slap and he followed the momentum to his knees. "So, you are American," Roswell huffed, swollen face red in anger. 

"Yes! Yes, okay?" Dick admitted, his nimble fingers working at the chains from behind. "I am American! My people know I'm here and what I found. And I'm also very invested in not taking a bath in your highly illegal sludge down there. So if you would back off and cool down-" 

Roswell kicked him in the middle. Dick gasped and the billionaire grabbed him by the throat, dragging him to his feet. Dick grunted, working feverishly at the lock. "I will cool down when you are dead!" the large man seethed.

For a fraction of a moment, Dick's eyes went wide and he panicked. Another instant later, the lock came undone and he was slamming hard and fast against the fat man. Roswell stumbled and Dick used the chains against the guards, forcing them back. One dropped his gun and it went skidding somewhere along the bridge. 

Dick spun and kicked at Roswell's gut, stalking after him as he was sent stumbling backward. The billionaire flailed and caught himself against the bridge controls. His meaty hand slapped something and suddenly the entire warehouse was alight with sirens and alarms. The bridge split in two, the middle separating as the halves disconnected, retreating back to their base. 

Dick grunted, catching himself as the whole structure shook violently. He looked up to see Roswell glowering back at him. Behind him, the guards watched on, being pulled away and useless. Behind Roswell, the discarded gun. 

The large man snarled, diving for it. Dick scrambled after him, reaching around his large mass for the weapon. But while Dick was long and nimble, Roswell and was large and powerful and he threw Dick off, sending the man sliding back to the edge of the bridge. Roswell laughed, pointing the gun at him. 

"Dick!" Gar called from above and the men looked up, finding the boy peering at them from the skylight. 

" _You_!" Roswell snarled, redirecting the rifle upward. 

Not having that at all, Dick charged forward, slamming bodily into the large man. They stumbled and fell over the railing.

Gar shouted, watching as they plummeted to the chemical waste below. Bones crunching, he dove forward without a second thought, free-falling through the air. 

Dick splashed into the vat, the toxic sludge swallowing him whole. The waste ate away at him, burning his clothes and taking bites of out every piece of exposed skin. He plugged his nose and squeezed his eyes shut, willing the acid to stay out of his orifices. He couldn't protect his ears, however, and had to bite back a scream as he felt them rupture, his eardrums no match for the thick acid. 

He reached out, trying to find open air, and found a leathery fin instead. He grabbed it instinctively and it pulled in return, yanking him to the surface. Gar swam them to the closest edge of the vat, his seal tail paddling against the thick liquid. They found solid ground and pulled themselves up, bodies sizzling as the acid continued to eat away. 

Dick shredded his shirt immediately, using the underside to wipe his eyes and face first, then his exposed hands, arms, and stomach. Bones crunched beside him and Gar gasped, lungs reconstituting themselves to work again. 

"Here," the boy coughed, and Dick found dry fabric pressed into his hands. Snatching it, he cleaned his eyes best he could, eventually able to open them. They stung like hell, but so far he wasn't blind so that was good.

"Thanks," he croaked, watching Gar wipe himself down. Dick looked at the now ruined cloth in his hand and recognized it as the boy's shirt. "You good?" he asked, nodding to the boy's nudity as he clumsily stripped his own pants. 

"Oh, uh, yeah." Gar hacked throatily. "Seal skin. Pretty tough." 

Dick nodded, wiping down his legs. Without proper equipment, they couldn't remove the acid entirely, but thanks to Gar sacrificing his clothes, they could at least reduce the lingering burn down to nasty sunburn levels. 

Once they were clean enough, Gar stood. Dick stumbled upright next to him. He tripped and panicked until he found a wall to lean against. Gar gathered the remains of his outfit, zipping up his jacket as he padded over. Dick had collapsed heavily to the wall, palms pressed to his ears. His face was downcast, hidden in his broad shoulders and scrunched in pain. 

"What is it?" the boy asked. Dick shook his head and Gar repeated his question louder. 

"Ears," was all Dick had to say. 

"Shit," Gar gasped. He hadn't even thought about how that sludge was ruin eardrums. "Can you walk?" he asked, taking his time with the words and enunciating loudly. 

"Yeah," Dick replied. "I think so."

"Okay. Okay, good." Gently, Gar took his arm, guiding him off the wall and toward the exit. He didn't bother asking about Roswell. The man got what he deserved. 

.,.,.,.,.,.,.,

Days later, with Dick's ears bandaged and the worst of their burns treated and wrapped, the two were driving on that long winding road, clothed in donated clothes and full of delicious food as they left the village behind. Gar had wanted to stay and help dismantle Roswell's company the rest of the way, but Dick and the villagers had convinced him the sooner they leave, the better for their identities. In the end, it was decided that if anyone came asking, Roswell's mysterious disappearance was the sole responsibility of the villager's finally uprising against the abuse. Obviously none of them would take credit for the kill; it was a group effort to bring down the devil. And the fact that Norman Roswell's body would never be discovered certainly wouldn't help any impending investigations either.

A contingency plan in place, the grateful villagers had given the Titans clothes to dress in, filled them with their finest foods, and blessed them in all of their endeavors in the future. So here they were, leaving everything behind.

Once they were in town with cell reception, they would check in with the Tower and see how urgently they were needed back. Depending on the answer, they would either bunker down in a hotel for a couple of days or try to chart a course back that didn't further destroy Dick's ears. 

"Hey," the man said, shouting loudly over the car's engine and the gauze in his ears. He glanced at Gar. "I'm sorry you didn't find the answers you were looking for." 

The boy shrugged. "It's okay. I guess I was just too caught up in getting answers that I - I don't know - was missing out on what I _do_ have." 

"And what's that?" 

"Good memories. My parents might've been up to some shady shit - or they might not have, I don't know - but in the end, I know they still loved me. And that they died knowing I loved them too." 

They waved at an old lady on the side of the road, the same one who had served them grilled fish last night. 

Dick grinned. "Well, I know a few other people who cared a whole awful lot about you too." 

Gar twisted in his chair, watching the lady hobble along at a leisurely pace. He smiled fondly at the memories of his neighbors welcoming him back with tears and open arms. Once in the village, always in the village. 

A police car suddenly zoomed along the dirt road and Gar turned at the noise, frowning as it was chased by a whole squad, sirens blaring.

"What's going on?" Gar wondered. Why was a small army of badges flooding down the only road to his quiet little village? 

"Oh that," Dick smirked. "I might have gone ahead and forwarded the League some of the evidence we uncovered on Roswell's hard drive. And they might have compiled it into a pretty damning case that was anonymously sent to the local authorities." 

Gar looked at him, mouth hanging in shock. "So that's why you were so insistent that we leave."

Dick winked at him mischievously. "Your neighbors will be taken care of, Gar. The land will be given back them, the contents and rights thereof theirs to do with as they please. All you have to do in return is consider not waiting four more years before visiting again."

The boy smiled, settling happily into his seat. "I'll do that." 


End file.
